


Bail Me Out

by adventureofthedancinggirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-10-19 20:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17608067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventureofthedancinggirl/pseuds/adventureofthedancinggirl
Summary: 5 times John bails Sherlock out of jail and 1 time Sherlock bails out John.For someone who hunts down criminals, Sherlock is arrested quite a lot. Lucky for him, John's always there to bail him out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebellofbakerstreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebellofbakerstreet/gifts).



> A thousand apologies for the lateness of this fic. I have no good excuses, just life. Hope you enjoy reading!

It wasn’t the first time and John was sure it was far from the last. He recognized the officer at the front desk, Evans, who had been on duty the last 3 times Sherlock had been arrested during court proceedings. Evans barely glanced up when John walked into the precinct, didn’t bother asking why he was there or if he could afford to post bail, just reached for the phone to call for the guard on duty.

“Yeah, he’s here. I know. Less than 20 minutes, that’s gotta be a new record.”

There was a pause during which his eyes flicked upward at John who was looking at his wallet, wondering how much bailing Sherlock out of jail would cost this time.

Evans gave a small shake of his head before speaking into the phone once more. “It’ll be fine. Just bring him out.”

Then, turning to John, he asked, “So, what was it this time?”

“Judge Randolf’s wife left him and he was hoping to hook up with one of the jurors, apparently,” John said. 

“It _was_ relevant, you know,” said a voice behind them, and John turned to see a disgruntled Sherlock being led by a guard who somehow managed to look simultaneously annoyed and amused.

“How was deducing the relationship status of the entire jury relevant?” 

Sherlock ignored his question. “Let’s go. I want to make sure Jamison was convicted.”

“What, you didn’t see him in there?” John asked, nodding toward the door Sherlock had just emerged from.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then turned and strode out the front door without a backwards glance. It was a mark of how common this occurrence was that Evans turned to John instead of calling for the guard to stop him.

“When people say relationships cost a lot of money, they usually mean dinner and roses, not bail for repeat offenders.”

John didn’t bother responding. He’d given up trying to convince the officers that there was nothing between him and Sherlock around the fifth time he’d been forced to post bail within his first few months of living at 221B. He’d lost track of how many times it had happened since.

“How much this time?” he asked, reaching for his wallet.

“200 quid”

John cringed. He should know by now to have extra cash on hand any time Sherlock was summoned to appear in court but he was low on funds until his next paycheck.

Evans nodded at the plastic bag containing Sherlock’s personal items that he’d left behind - watch that cost more than John had in his savings account, scraps of paper with illegible scribbles, phone with multiple text alerts blinking, and a wallet, which contained exactly the amount needed. _That bastard_ , John thought as he shoved the money over, then hurried after Sherlock before anyone in the station could comment further.

By the time he got outside though, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John had half a mind to turn around and head straight back to Baker Street, maybe have a cuppa and a few minutes of quiet before Sherlock came swirling in, ranting about the incompetence of everyone in the criminal justice system. Instead he began walking toward the courthouse, fully aware that the way he continued to follow Sherlock like a dutiful puppy was the reason people assumed he was either crazy or in love. 

Before he could follow that thought any further he turned a corner and ran headlong into Sherlock.

“Sherlock! What the hell?”

“I needed my phone,” Sherlock said calmly, as if that explained everything.

“Your phone?” John said, trying to get his bearings again.

Sherlock reached down to grab the plastic bag of his belongings still clutched in John’s right hand, slid his mobile out and began scrolling through the messages before handing the bag and the rest of its contents back to John.

“I’m not your valet,” John grumbled but accepted the bag anyway. Sherlock began texting in earnest once both hands were free.

“Seriously, Sherlock you can’t keep doing this,” John said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the station as Sherlock strode down the sidewalk, fingers still flying as he tapped out another text.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, it’s a waste of money.”

Sherlock shrugged.

John rolled his eyes. Of course he didn’t care. The longer they lived together the clearer it became that money was of no great concern for Sherlock. Sometimes John wondered why he’d claimed to need help paying the rent when they’d first met.

“But what about your reputation?” he pressed on as they made their way across an intersection, now heading toward Baker Street, “I swear, you get arrested more than most of the criminals we track down.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“What, because you’ve not had to stay there overnight? It still counts!”

“I’m out, aren’t I?”

“Only because you have me,” John shot back. “What would you do if I weren’t around, huh?”

John continued walking for a few feet before he realized that Sherlock wasn’t beside him anymore. When he turned, Sherlock was no longer staring at his phone, but at John. An odd look crossed his face.

“I hope I never have to find out,” he said quietly.

John felt his heartbeat quicken as Sherlock’s pale eyes met his. He felt that perhaps he should say something but then Sherlock turned up his coat collar and resumed texting, somehow navigating the path with ease despite the fact that he didn’t glance up once the rest of the way home.

They both knew John’s words were an empty threat, that no matter how many ridiculous things Sherlock did, John would always be there to bail him out of whatever mess he got himself into. Not because followed with blind devotion, but because he was addicted to the excitement that came when he allowed himself to be swept up in Sherlock’s insane life.

When had this become his reality? John wondered.

At first it had been fascination; a sense of intrigue that made him feel alive and curious about something - some _one_ , for the first time in ages. But now? Loyalty? Yes. Friendship? Certainly. But as they climbed the stairs to 221B, John couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something more.


	2. Chapter 2

John was more than a bit annoyed. Sherlock had dragged him out of bed early that morning and, after an incomprehensible journey zig-zagging through several neighborhoods, had shimmied through an impossibly high window to search a missing woman’s flat for clues leaving John standing alone in an alleyway like an idiot. Again.

Sherlock claimed that John’s help would make or break the case, but how was he supposed to be helpful if he was locked out here with Sherlock ignoring his calls to be let in. He’d been half ready to head back to Baker Street on his own to salvage what he could of his day off when two police cars pulled up, sirens blaring. A second later he received a text saying simply:

Go home. -SH

Instead, John ducked behind a large potted plant and waited, peering through the leaves at the front door. Minutes later he saw a tall, curly-haired figure being led out the front door in handcuffs.

“You know who I am,” came Sherlock’s voice, “unless you lot are as stupid as you look.”

John sighed in resignation when he saw DI Dimmock step into view instead of Lestrade. At least Sherlock’s message to disappear from the scene made sense now.

“Yes, Holmes, and you’re still breaking and entering,” said Dimmock

“Glad to see you’ve fixed the Met’s abysmal response time to home invasion reports. Too bad you can’t speed up the process of getting a warrant.”

Dimmock ignored this and asked, “You’re here alone?”

John pulled his head back around the corner as Dimmock turned to scan the area.

“Obviously,” said Sherlock, “Unless I have a companion who can magically turn invisible.”

There was a pause in which John listened anxiously for approaching footsteps but Dimmock simply told one of his officers to check the flat and ordered Sherlock into the back of the waiting car.

John felt a twinge of guilt as he slipped down the side alley but then had to choke back a laugh as he heard Sherlock asking loudly when they were leaving as if he were a child being dragged along on a road trip. He considered waiting for the phone call, if only to keep up appearances, but recalled the potentially time-sensitive nature of the case and decided against it. He flagged down a cab one street over and arrived at the station just as Sherlock was being escorted out of the patrol car, in through the side door that led to the holding cells.

Dimmock shot him a suspicious look but all he said as John paid Sherlock’s bail was, “Just keep him away from my crime scene.”

 

\---

 

Once Sherlock had reclaimed his belongings, they hailed a cab and John was surprised to hear him direct the cabbie to Baker Street instead of chasing down another obscure lead.

“Really?” John asked, “You’re not going back to bother Dimmock?”

“No point.”

“But I thought you said it was urgent.”

“Oh, it was.” Sherlock leaned back in his seat. “But even that lot should be able to figure it out now that they’re in there.”

“Why did _you_ need to go then?”

“They didn’t have a warrant.”

“Neither did you,” John pointed out.

“Exigent circumstances. They have to search the apartment now that I’ve been there, and anything in plain sight is fair game. The case is so simple even an idiot like Dimmock can figure it out with time to spare.”

John shook his head then asked, “Why’d you leave me outside?”

“Grant’s out of town.”

John looked at him blankly. “Grant?”

Sherlock gave him a look that said it should be obvious.

“Oh. Greg,” John corrected automatically.

Sherlock waved him off. “Yes, him. Clearly he went on holiday. A poor attempt to salvage his failing romantic partnership. Anyhow, there was an 87% chance that the officers who arrived on the scene would be even more idiotic than his lot.”

Before John could ask how any of this was relevant, Sherlock added, “I couldn’t risk you getting arrested too. There’d be no one to bail us out.”

The earnest look on Sherlock’s face made John laugh in spite of himself. The corners of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up they spent the rest of the ride giggling uncontrollably, much to the confusion of their cabbie.


	3. Chapter 3

John was ready for the day to be over but his last patient, a middle aged woman who had come in for a sprained wrist, was trying to convince him that he would be a perfect match for her daughter who had just moved home after a year abroad.

“Thanks, Mrs. Thompson, but no.”

“Not one to mix business with pleasure,” she nodded approvingly, “I respect that, but it’s alright if _she’s_ not your patient isn’t it?”

“Yeah, no…” John stammered, wishing he knew how to exit this conversation, “I mean, I already have...someone.”

He couldn’t keep his mind from jumping to Sherlock as he made his excuse.

“Oh!” Mrs. Thompson looked both satisfied and disappointed at the same time. “Well of course you do, dear. I keep telling my Millie that she needs to hurry up and settle down before all the good men are gone.”

“Right,” John said, shifting uncomfortably, “Well, be sure to follow up with us if you don’t see any improvement in a week.”

Thankfully she took this as a cue to leave and John breathed a sigh of relief before adding a short note to her chart.

There was a knock on the doorframe. Sarah poked her head around the corner and the amused look on her face told him that she had overheard the entire conversation. John cringed inwardly. While the two of them had ended things on good terms he realized that his fumbling half lie about his relationship status was probably something she didn’t need to hear.

“Look, Sarah, about that. I didn’t mean...I was just trying to get her to stop playing matchmaker.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “I’m happy for you. Really. About time you figured it out.”

John sighed. Even if neither of them had said it aloud, he knew the real reason they’d broken up was because of his complicated, indefinable relationship with Sherlock.

“No, that’s not it. I’m not -”

“Relax, John. We’re fine.”

“So, that’s not why you came back here?”

“You know I’m not that kind of girl,” she teased.

John laughed.

“You have a call on the main line actually,” she said, “DI Lestrade.”

John thanked her and hurried over to the front desk to take the call.

“John. Great.” Greg sounded annoyed but not worried, which put to rest John’s fear that Sherlock had been hurt.

“Whatever he did, it’s not my fault. I’m not his babysitter.”

“Maybe not, but you’re the one who needs to go pick him up,” said Greg. “I’d stop at the bank if I were you.”

John groaned. “Oh god, what’d he do now?”

“Got caught impersonating a police officer.”

John’s mind flashed to the collection of pickpocketed badges Sherlock kept in his desk drawer. 

“So, did he have - ” he started to ask, but Greg cut him off.

“Shut up. Just get down here and bail him out because I’m certainly not going to.”

John stifled a laugh as he hung up the phone. Poor Greg. He wondered how many badges the DI had lost over the years to Sherlock.

“Everything alright?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah. Are you okay locking up by yourself? I’ve got to get Sherlock. The idiot managed to get himself arrested again.”

“Well, it’s lucky he has you to save the day,” she said.

John shook his head. “He’s just lucky I haven’t killed him yet.” 

Sarah laughed.

“Oh, by the way,” she added, “I’ve met Mrs. Thompson’s daughter. She really is quite pretty. A little quirky but nice. She’d probably like you.”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad for lying to her?” John asked.

“Of course not,” Sarah said. “Besides, it wasn’t that much of a lie, was it?”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was bored. The criminals of London had apparently chosen this week to be more mediocre than normal and the only messages on the website were people asking if their spouse was cheating, (the answer was yes), whether their bookkeeper was stealing from their business (also yes), and if he would please help find a lost tortoise (no). To add to his frustration, John had decided that going out on a date was more interesting than helping him find a new case.

Not that John had bothered mentioning anything to Sherlock ahead of time. It had been obvious the second John walked through the door though. The usual weariness that hovered around him at the end of a long day at the clinic was absent and in its place was an air of excitement. A last minute invitation then, Sherlock mused as he listened to John climb into the shower down the hall.

John usually took about 45 minutes to get ready for a night out, but he’d been in such a rush that he hadn’t even bothered to check the flat for new experiments (and fresh damage) like he normally did when Sherlock was left alone without a case for too long. That meant he had maybe half that amount of time before he had to leave.

 _Who was this woman?_ Sherlock wondered. John hadn’t mentioned anyone new lately and Sherlock quickly ruled out the possibility that Sarah had decided to give him another chance. If it had been anyone from work, a shared ending time would mean a later reservation, given the fact that most women would want more time to get ready. 

Sherlock heard the bathroom door open and busied himself shuffling notes on his desk. He tried not to stare as John emerged, clad only in a towel.

“You went to a new cafe today. Is that where you met her?” he asked.

“How did you even -” John started, then shrugged and headed upstairs.

Sherlock gave him a few minutes to get dressed, added an extra minute to account for any indecision in date attire, then followed him up and took a seat on the bed. John examined his reflection in the mirror as he buttoned his shirt.

“Who is she?” Sherlock asked.

John met his gaze in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What, you’re not going to bother deducing it?”

“You’ve met before but she was more acquaintance than friend. You’ve not seen each other in years so she’s either just moved back to London or is visiting for a short while,” Sherlock said, “Other than that, there are too many variables. You’re clearly in a hurry so you might as well answer my questions so you can get on with getting off.”

John shook his head but answered anyway as he continued searching for a matching tie.

“Her name’s Alice. We had several classes together at uni. Used to grab coffee at a little place off of Smithfield. That’s where I ran into her actually.”

“You never dated?”

“Thought about it, but she was dating someone else most of the time I knew her.”

“Must be nice to have a second chance.” 

Sherlock hoped John couldn’t hear the jealousy in his voice.

John shrugged. “I’m not expecting much. She’s never been one to stay in the same place for long.”

“Things could be worse,” Sherlock said, “She could end up being a serial killer.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“It would certainly make things more interesting.”

“You’d be disappointed then. She’s likes to travel, but she’s pretty normal by your standards.”

Sherlock pushed himself off the bed. “Normal is boring.”

“I like normal,” John replied.

“Everything about your life with me contradicts that statement.”

John laughed and held out two ties to Sherlock for his opinion.

Sherlock reached into John’s dresser and pulled out a different one altogether. 

“Here,” he said, draping it over John’s neck, “Don’t worry. I’ll call you at the usual time with an emergency in case you want a more exciting way to spend the evening.”

“Don’t you dare.”

\---

John was enjoying his time with Alice. She’d always been easy to talk to and seemed genuinely interested in what had happened in his life since they’d last seen each other. It didn’t hurt that she was still very attractive and hinted that she would be staying in London for quite some time. Though what that meant for a woman who’d moved almost every year since graduation, he wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t necessarily that he was looking for anything long term - he’d learned that his life with Sherlock was incompatible with a committed romantic relationship, but it was nice to be out on a date with someone who wasn’t likely to leap up halfway through the meal and lead him on a foot chase through back alleys. Which is why he pointedly ignored the first call when it came exactly 39 minutes after he’d left Baker Street.

Of course, he knew ignoring Sherlock wouldn’t work for long and sure enough, a steady stream of text alerts punctuated the conversation as they worked their way through the appetiser sampler.

“Are you going to check that?” Alice asked somewhere around the tenth text alert, “It might be important.” 

John highly doubted it, but took the opportunity to scroll quickly through his messages. This had become a sort of accidental game over the past couple of years. At first John had found Sherlock’s near constant stream of texts when he was on a date infuriating, but somewhere along the line, Sherlock had figured out that instead of insulting John’s dates (which always backfired because John tended to dig his heels in just to spite him), he could send tantalizing hints of an interesting case to seduce John away from nearly any woman he happened to be seeing at the time. 

When there was no case on hand, Sherlock resorted to texting him a sort of stream of consciousness that more often than not made John picture a web browser with a dozen different tabs open at the same time. Still, tonight’s texts seemed even more random than usual: 

_Why do we only have one rug? -SH_

_Do you know where I can find a suit of armor? - SH_

_It’s not snowing. -SH_

John couldn’t stop himself from responding to this last one.

_It’s the middle of September, Sherlock._

Sherlock’s reply came immediately.

_Irrelevant. -SH_

John shook his head and looked up at Alice. “Sorry. It’s just Sherlock. I’ll turn it off.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “Is he out on a case?”

John shook his head and returned his focus to her. They both got through a summarized version of their current work and living situations, and had started on their entrees before John’s text alert chimed again several times in rapid succession. He glanced down, meaning to turn it off, but couldn’t help reading:

_Mute swans are a protected species. -SH_

_There are no pelicans in Hyde Park. -SH_

_John, did you know flying a kite in London is illegal? -SH_

John let out a snort of laughter. 

“What?” Asked Alice.

“Nothing,” John replied. He turned off the ringer and slid his phone back into his pocket.

So, what’s it like living with Sherlock Holmes?

John laughed. “Infuriating most of the time, but surprisingly fun.”

She remained silent, waiting for him to go on.

“He leaves experiments all over the flat - chemicals melting our cups, that sort of thing. There’s eyeballs in the microwave more often than food in the cabinets unless I’ve done the shopping, but he knows all the best places to eat in a 20 mile radius. He can navigate the most obscure back alleys of the city but can’t be bothered to find his mobile when it’s just across the room. He’s brilliant though, the way his mind works. But it’s not just his deductions and brains. He makes it seem as if he doesn’t care about anyone’s opinions or feelings. I mean, sometimes that might be true. He doesn’t take cases unless they interest him, but sometimes he’ll do something like help a kid come out to his parents or track down a pet rabbit. Of course he’ll do that in the most unconventional way possible, but still -”

“You really care about him, don’t you?” She said.

John froze. This was exactly why he usually avoided talking about Sherlock on dates - he had a tendency to ramble on and women generally took it the wrong way.

Alice smiled at him though and thankfully changed the subject to her friend in America who was obsessed with corgis and had demanded that she take a photo of the Queen’s corgis to send to her at the soonest opportunity. They made it all the way through their entrees without talk about Sherlock, but after they finished their meals, John couldn’t help himself from sneaking a glance at his phone and saw one more text, timestamped 20 minutes prior: 

_Cabs are boring. Taking the tube. - SH_

He was about to slide his phone back into his coat pocket when it rang. Alice nodded for him to take it while she flagged down the waiter to ask for a dessert menu.

“What, Sherlock?”

“John,” Sherlock’s voice sounded odd, there was a bit of an echo as if he were in an empty room. “Can you meet me?”

“Not really, no.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“We’re having a nice time, Sherlock. I don’t need a fake emergency. I’ll see you at home.” 

“John, wait! I need you to come get me.” 

John rolled his eyes and was about to hang up when he heard a static-y voice over a pa system in the background and the sound of a metal door closing. He sighed. He should have known better than to think Sherlock would stay home and out of trouble.

“Oh for christ’s sake, Sherlock.”

“So, you’ll come?”

“Fine, but it better not cost more than 50 quid because that’s all I’ve got to spare at the moment.”

He flagged the waiter down for the check without getting dessert. For her part, Alice took it in stride, though John knew the chance of a second date was almost non-existent. 

“Sorry about this,” he said as they stood outside, unsure what else he could say.

She smiled at him as a cab pulled up beside them.

“You’re a good man, John Watson. I’m glad I got to see you again. I hope one day I can find someone who cares about me half as much as you care about Sherlock.”

“Not sure if that’s a good thing. Half the time I want to strangle him.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” she said with a wink as she climbed into the waiting taxi.

\---

John spent the ride to the station wondering why he wasn’t more bothered by the fact that yet another date seemed to think he was in love with Sherlock. Was it friendship, or something more that kept their lives so closely intertwined, he wondered as he forked over 50 quid to bail Sherlock out for trying to fly a kite on the underground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To provide a little context for this chapter, here are some [weird things that are illegal in London](https://londonist.com/2016/04/10-weird-london-laws-and-rules): wearing a suit of armor in Parliament, beating a rug, jumping a queue in the tube station, sliding on ice or snow in the streets, touching a pelican, killing a swan, and flying a kite. I think you'd probably just get fined, not arrested, if you tried doing these things but of course Sherlock's always been a bit of an overachiever, hasn't he?


	5. Chapter 5

This was supposed to be a quick and easy day trip to the country - head out before sunrise, solve a crime, grab dinner and a pint at the local pub (Greg had waxed nostalgic about the shepherd’s pie he’d had when he went on holiday there), then take the last train back to London.

John should have known better and just booked a room ahead of time. It would have made this whole thing a lot less awkward. 

\---

The day had started out as expected. They arrived at the station a little after 8:00 and were greeted by a man in his late 40’s named Cooper, who explained to them that half of his sheep had been swapped with those from neighboring farms over the course of the month. 

It had taken Sherlock no more than an hour to deduce that the swaps had been done as part of an experiment by a scientist studying the behavioral and social patterns of sheep, and by the time they’d managed to track him to a condemned property, it was still only mid-afternoon. But of course, Sherlock had to go and be Sherlock, which resulted in him being arrested along with the sheep scientist under suspicion of collusion and trespassing. So instead of enjoying a nice dinner, John found himself arguing with the local police force, trying to convince them that Sherlock was more help than harm. He suspected Sherlock’s constant stream of deductions about the arresting officer hadn’t helped his case.

Finally, he’d given up and called Lestrade who’d had a good laugh, but agreed to call in a favor. Even so, the processing and posting of bail took an inordinate amount of time. John couldn’t tell if the officers were being deliberately slow out of spite, or if they really were as inefficient as Sherlock had implied, but by the time they were free to go, the train back to London was long gone.

Which led them here, to the only available room at a quaint little inn.

\---

“There’s only one bed,” John said, the moment he opened the door, too tired and hungry to care that he was stating the obvious.

“What did you expect, John?”

When John simply glared at him in response Sherlock continued, “This inn is a popular spot for couples on holiday. Well, as popular as anywhere in a town this small can be, I suppose.”

“Well, how the bloody hell was I supposed to know that?” John asked.

“Didn’t Lestrade mention this place?”

“So?”

“So,” said Sherlock as though explaining to a child that two plus two equals four, “the only reason he knows about this place is because he stayed here on holiday with his wife. Naturally he would have wanted something romantic to try and win her back from the PE teacher. Why did you call him anyway?”

“Would you rather have spent the night in jail?” John snapped, “You may as well have. We’ve missed the train anyway, not to mention dinner."

The look on Sherlock’s face made John immediately regret his words.

“Look,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry. I’m just…It’s been a long day. Let’s just try to get some sleep.”

John slipped into the bathroom and took longer than was strictly necessary, hoping Sherlock would be in bed, feigning sleep by the time he returned but when he emerged, Sherlock was still standing near the door, examining the different figurines on the mantelpiece. He hadn’t removed his coat.

“Sherlock?” John asked.

Sherlock’s head snapped up and he pulled his coat tighter around himself.

“I’m going out,” he said, not meeting John’s eyes, “I’ll be back in the morning and we can take the first train out.”

Sherlock had one hand on the door when John caught up to him and placed a hand gently on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Just…come lay down. The bed’s big enough.”

Sherlock turned and met his gaze, uncertainty in his eyes, but he let John lead him back toward the bed.

They lay there in silence, John hoping Sherlock couldn’t feel how quickly his heart was beating, hoping he couldn’t deduce how badly he wanted to bridge the distance between them. He’d only recently been able to admit it to himself – that what he really wanted from Sherlock, the reason he put up with all the crazy adventures, was something more than friendship. Still, it was getting rather costly having to keep bailing Sherlock out.

“This is becoming a bad habit.” John said, breaking the silence.

“What?” said Sherlock, “Sleeping together? You have an odd definition of habit - we’ve only done that once before.”

John blushed, glad the lights were out and that Sherlock was staying on his side of the bed unlike the last time they’d found themselves in this situation.

“No, you getting arrested.”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Sherlock said and John could almost hear him pouting.

John made a noise of disbelief.

“That was once,” Sherlock said.

“Please!” John said, laughing, “You did at least ten illegal things in one night to pull me away from a date.”

“Yes, but I only did that once.”

“Why?”

“It wasn’t very efficient. It took over an hour before they arrested me. I realized that there are quicker ways to get your attention.”

“No, I meant _why_ did you want to interrupt my date?”

After a short pause, Sherlock answered, “I was bored.”

“Nope. Using the wall as target practice is you being bored. Why were you so determined to get my attention?” John wasn’t sure why he was pressing this. He knew the sort of answer he was hoping for, but he didn’t expect -

“I missed you,” said Sherlock, “I didn’t want you to leave.”

“What are you talking about? I was only gone for a couple of hours,” John said.

He felt Sherlock shift beside him and turned on his side so they were facing each other. Sherlock’s pale eyes were visible in the faint light from the window.

“I never had someone who would always be there for me before. Someone to bail me out whenever I was in trouble. I didn’t want to lose that.”

John felt his breath catch and he reached across and gave Sherlock’s hand a brief squeeze.

“I’ll always be here, Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything but kept hold of John’s hand as he let his eyes drift shut.

John lay awake long after Sherlock fell asleep, wondering how many more times he would have to bail Sherlock out, and knowing full well that he would do it for the rest of their lives if he had to.


End file.
